


Making a Move

by Palebluedot



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: (my two favorite things tbh), Charles You Slut, Drunk Charles, Erik is confused, M/M, chess dates, here be alcohol and swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/pseuds/Palebluedot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What we all know went down during one of their chess games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a Move

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on actual paper like a peasant during class awhile ago, not gonna lie, so it's just a quick little smutless drabble, nothing too fancy, but I kinda liked it, so I'm posting it anyway. Enjoy.

If Charles is to be completely honest with himself, he’s perhaps had a bit too much to drink. 

He doesn’t know when exactly he transitioned from just having a drink or two to being all-out, cheeks-flushed, libido-engaged _buzzed_ , only that he most certainly appears to have crossed that line. It had just been so easy, and so _comfortable_ , sitting by the fireplace, Erik across the chessboard from him, and such a satisfying stock of beer so conveniently within arm’s reach.

However, he doesn’t think he’s completely smashed yet. He is, for example, definitely still sober enough to notice that Erik has just taken a swig of his beer, and is perfectly capable of thinking all manner of unholy thoughts about how those lips of his look wrapped around a bottleneck-shaped object.

That being said, he’s also just inebriated enough to toy with the idea of actually  _doing_  something about it. Which could very well mean that he’s lost his mind to the liquor after all.

Oh, well. One thing he does know for certain is that he is simply too drunk to care. Erik is gorgeous, and Charles intends to be well and truly fucked by him before the night is through, consequences be damned.

He really needs another drink.

Emptying what remains of his bottle , Charles is suddenly reminded that he’s supposed to be playing chess. He quickly jumps Erik’s bishop with his knight. “Check.”

Erik’s following smile is downright predatory, and  _Christ_ , Charles is in so much trouble. All he can think about is Erik looking at him like  _that_  as he presses him down into the mattress, unbuckles his belt and -

“Really, Charles, I expected better from you.”

Charles suddenly finds himself snapped back into reality, to a world where Erik has taken Charles’ queen, and, more importantly, is  _not_ actually fucking his brains out.

That reprehensible bastard.

Well. Charles figures he can fix  _one_  of these inexcusable problems, anyway. He absently starts on another beer while he ponders his next move. He  _could_  pin Erik’s bishop and win the game in three moves, or…

Charles takes another long drink. He’ll be needing the courage. Doing his best to ignore the childish fluttering in his stomach, he slowly trails his tongue across the seam of his lips while he stares at the chessboard. Chancing a glance up at Erik, he finds that his eyes look rather darker than they had a moment ago.

Excellent.

In a moment of inspiration, Charles lightly runs the circle of his fingers up and down the length of his bottle, resisting the urge to actually pump his fist in celebration when he hears Erik’s quiet, yet sharp, intake of breath.

“Are you planning on making a move anytime soon?” And okay, Charles may be quite tipsy, but he knows a golden opportunity when he hears one.

“Of course,” he replies, voice the very picture of innocence. “Anything for one so exquisite as you.” And with that, Charles gets up, crosses over to Erik, and straddles his lap, looping his arms around the other man’s neck.

Erik stiffens in shock, but makes no attempt to leave. “Charles, what are you - ”

“Making my move.” He hums the words into Erik’s ear, making sure to brush his lips over the shell. Smirking in satisfaction when he feels Erik shiver slightly, he pulls back so they’re facing each other, and takes a long, indulgent look. “Has anyone ever told you your eyes are  _stunning_?” he breathes.

Poor Erik doesn’t seem to be able to process much of anything at the moment, and still looks deeply confused. “…You’re very funny.”

“No, I’m serious – you are  _beautiful_.” Charles runs an appreciative hand up Erik’s back, and threads his fingers through his hair. Gathering every ounce of bravery he possesses, he lowers his voice to what he hopes is a seductive murmur. “I wonder if you taste as good as you look.” And then he’s moving closer, and then their noses are brushing, and Erik’s breath is warm against his lips, and -

Erik lightly splays his hand over Charles’ chest, keeping him back just enough to avoid a proper kiss,  _damn him_ , though their lips still graze when he speaks. “You’re drunk.”

Charles cracks a smile. “Not  _terribly_.”

“Then you’ve gone mad.” Erik, bless him, looks genuinely concerned for his health.

“Mm, you  _do_  have that effect on me.” Suddenly a little more self-conscious than he's used to being, Charles pulls back and looks Erik in the eye. “…is that alright?”

“ _…Fuck_ yes,” Erik growls, and  _finally_  Charles feels those lips on his own, soft and pliant and  _perfect_ , and before he loses the ability to form coherent thoughts, he resolves to write a personal letter of thanks to every brewery in the country.


End file.
